Limbo
by mrs.sastre
Summary: For the last 10 years Jane's revenge has left him stuck in limbo, unable to move forward with his life. Will he ever be able to move on?
1. Chapter 1

He had that dream again.

The one where they were walking hand and hand on the beach while little Charlotte was running just ahead with a tiny shovel and sand bucket to collect her "treasures" in. Treasures, that's what Charlottes called the pretty stones and occasional sea shells that she scooped up. Squealing with delight when she found a dried star fish to add to her collection.

He could hear the sound of the surf, his little girl's giggles, feel the light breeze, the noon day sun and the soft skin of Angela's hand in his and he was content. He wanted to things to stay this way forever.

Then the familiar panic started. He knew what was coming next: the blood, the screams and the endless pain.

A grown up Charlotte suddenly appeared in front of him.

"It doesn't have to be this way you know, Dad. Let yourself be free, we're dead, you don't have to be too."

"This is new." he thought in surprise. He was afraid to feel relief just yet, perhaps it would turn into the familiar nightmare soon after all.

Then things quickly changed again. He found himself in the CBI office sitting on his couch, watching the team go about their working day. He felt like a fly on the wall, no one noticed him, it was as if he was invisible.

"I am dreaming." He said to himself, trying to gain control of his dream state.

He walked over to Teresa's office, funny, he never thought of her as Lisbon when he was dreaming. When he looked in she was working at her desk while Patrick Jane was sleeping on her couch. Teresa glanced over at his resting form from time to time, with an expression of worry on her face and a small sigh. He felt like he could see into her soul; not just into her past and present, but her future too. He watched as the room seemed to move through time. The same scene playing out but just different days, weeks, months and finally years. Ad all that time, Teresa was there, waiting for him, supporting him, patient and good. He saw her get older and he saw the light in her eyes start to dim as she gave up all of her last bits of hope to him.

Patrick woke up with a start surrounded by darkness and the sounds of his laboured breathing. While he was relieved that he hadn't woken up screaming as he sometimes did, he was disquieted nonetheless. Lisbon has been wasting the best years of her life on him, on his revenge. Dear God, what was wrong with him? What had he been doing to her for the past ten years? What had he done to himself?

He felt a tear trickle down his face. He was surprised to realize that he was weeping. As he lay below the image painted in blood he resolved to fix this.

"I need to stop this. It's killing me and I'm killing her."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi everyone. Thank you very much for the reviews and the follows. This is my first foray into the fanfic world and it is very exciting!**

**I have been lurking for a while, reading and enjoying, then got up the courage to register then post some reviews and now finally am writing my first story. It's been very inspiring to read the work of so many wonderful writers on this site. Although I don't have the talent to be a professional I still hope I can contribute something positive to this forum. **

**(BTW, I have found the updating function hasn't been working for me. I tried to fix some typos in chapter 1 but the revised chapter wouldn't publish. If anyone has any advice I would appreciate hearing it.)**

**I originally thought this would be a one-shot, but it looks like it will be 3 chapters or so. It's funny how the story leads you and not the other way around.**

**Donna**

* * *

The morning shone bright and clear, another California cliché, but the beautiful sunshine couldn't erase the memory of last night's dream. He felt troubled and adrift, wondering what action he should take to get off the path that he had put himself and Lisbon on.

"And yes," a small voice in his head whispered, "I put us on this path, not Red John. I have to take responsibility for it."

He felt himself choking up as this thought burrowed its way through his conscience. He had been feeling fragile and on the verge of tears since he had woken. All night he had lain there thinking, trying to process the maelstrom of feelings the dream had built up inside of him. Even after several hours he still felt unable to snap his mask in place. He relied on it to allow him to face the world. Where was the vaunted self-control that he prided himself on? Where was the armour that Lisbon so often cursed him for?

"Am I _grieving_?" He said aloud.

That was impossible. He had grieved, years ago. Hadn't he?

He thought about Kübler-Ross' five stages of grief.

Denial? He'd been catatonic when he was first brought into the institution. His mind had rejected the horrific reality it had been confronted with and instead created its own world, one where he and his family were still happy and thriving.

Depression? Once out of his catatonia, the "black dog" became his daily companion, lying on his chest, its great weight keeping him from even raising his head. He and Sophie fought that demon hound until it was forced back and he was able to function on his own again.

Bargaining? He can't even begin to count the number of times he has prayed to Lisbon's God (the one he doesn't believe in) to take him instead and bring back his wife and child.

Anger? For the past ten years anger has been his closest friend ("Closer than Lisbon?" the voice whispered). He has kept his anger close to his heart, pushed down deep. He feared that if he ever truly let it out he might be locked back up in that institution, for his fury would rage for days.

Acceptance? Acceptance? He always thought he would gain this once Red John was dead. But ten years later here he was, still waiting. His shoulders sagged, Charlotte was right.

"Admit the truth Patrick" the quiet voice said. "It wasn't Charlotte. You said those things to yourself. You know what you have to do, you've known for months now."

Yes. He made a decision.

Surprising himself, he found that he wanted to share this with someone. Not just someone, he wanted to share this with Teresa.

So, even though it was early he knew that she would already be up but not yet on the road; he called her cell.

"Lisbon." It felt good to hear her competent, tough cop voice. But now that he had her on the line, he felt a sudden shyness overtake him. This wasn't easy to communicate in a quick phone call.

"It's me. What are you doing today?"

"Um, I'm working. The same thing that you're supposed to be doing." He could hear the wry amusement and mild confusion in her voice.

"Come over to my place today."

"Your place? You mean in Malibu?"

"Yes, where else would I mean?" He loved keeping her off balance.

"Wear casual clothes. I need help with some painting."

He hung up knowing that Teresa (when did he start thinking of her as Teresa and not Lisbon?) would understand the significance of what he had said and would respond accordingly.

Now that he had talked to her he felt a little stronger. Teresa fortified him somehow. In the meantime, he had a few hours before she arrived to pick up paint supplies, some food and do some other errands. His mask still wouldn't slip into place. All he could manage was a paler, more transparent version but it would be enough.

Perhaps this was what regular people felt like? Hmmm, Patrick Jane, just a man after all. This was truly a day for revelations.


End file.
